


I don't care

by thatsmallbrit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But you know how siblings are, High School AU, I'm a disaster, I'm really bad at tagging holy cow, John Plays Rugby, John gets pissed off, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mystrade is a background pairing sorry, Past Friendship, Sherlock's a bit mean to Mycroft, Slow Burn, Teenlock, They reunite at a party, but it gets better slowly, fake name, john's also a cadet, sorry about how bad it all is, they do seasonal things together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:06:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmallbrit/pseuds/thatsmallbrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Moving schools is usually a stressful and emotional process. But not for Sherlock Holmes. After four tedious years of his stupid private school, the fifteen year old was finally free. He had no idea why his mother and father sent him there in the first place. Probably Mycroft's influence. </p><p>However, Sherlock was 'free' for... Unpleasant reasons. Reasons that his parents weren't at all impressed with. But Sherlock didn't care. If he was completely honest, he'd have done it a lot sooner if it meant he'd get kicked out of the stupid school. </p><p>And now there he was, lounging about the Holmes manner for his six weeks holidays, absolutely carefree. Well, he had one care. But that one care probably didn't remember him, and if did it wouldn't want him around."</p><p>John and Sherlock used to be best friends in primary school, however Sherlock's parents sent Sherlock to a different secondary school to John and they lost contact. After four years, Sherlock is enrolled at John's school and reunites with him at a party before school starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Moving schools is usually a stressful and emotional process. But not for Sherlock Holmes. After four tedious years of his stupid private school, the fifteen year old was finally free. He had no idea why his mother and father sent him there in the first place. Probably Mycroft's influence.

However, Sherlock was 'free' for... Unpleasant reasons. Reasons that his parents weren't at all impressed with. But Sherlock didn't care. If he was completely honest, he'd have done it a lot sooner if it meant he'd get kicked out of the stupid school.

And now there he was, lounging about the Holmes manner for his six weeks holidays, absolutely carefree. Well, he had one care. But that one care probably didn't remember him, and if did it wouldn't want him around.

The name of that care? Classified. Locked away. No one can know that Sherlock Holmes cares. Not even Mummy or Father. And especially not Fatcroft. Speaking of Fatcroft, here he comes.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, discontent written all over his face. He glared up at his brother and rolled his eyes slightly. _Gained 2lbs, tut tut._

"Oh, how charming you are, baby brother. I can see that your new school will truly appreciate the delight that you are," Mycroft said softly, his voice full to the brim of sarcasm.

Sherlock huffed and rolled over so her was facing the back of the sofa and certainly not his older brother.

"Nevertheless, I've come to inform you of a social eve-"

"I detest social events, Mycroft. I think all those cakes you've eaten are going to your fat covered, decaying brain," Sherlock spat, not turning at all.

"-nt that's taking place this evening," the older Holmes son continued, ignoring Sherlock's harsh comments. "I believe it's taking place at Michael Stamford's house. According to the boys in the Newsagents, everyone who attends their school is invited."

"Dull."

"I think you should go."

"Why?"

"It'll be good for you. I've read that people are easier to befriend at parties."

"Dull."

Mycroft sighed and adjusted his shirt sleeves. "Suit yourself. Though I'm sure a certain old friend of yours will be there."

Sherlock quickly turned and glared at Mycroft. "He's not my friend. Old or not. I don't care."

"If you say so. It starts at seven o'clock, I believe." And with that, Mycroft left Sherlock in the living room alone.

Sherlock listened to him say goodbye to Mummy and Father, and then leave the house. As soon as he heard the door close, he sprinted out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

4 o'clock. Three hours to get ready.


	2. Chapter 1

_Breathe in. Breathe out. And in. And ou- not too fast! Calm yourself, Sherlock. Just a party. Just a party. Keep walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. People, oh god. Smile, act like you belong. You're in. Good. Now mingle. A lot easier said than done._

Sherlock really really don't know what he should do. He didn't know anyone. Well, he knew some people, but they didn't know him. He decided that he'd learn how to interact by observing. Yes, that should do it. He decided to situate himself in the living room, that's where a large group was situated. He stood by the sofa and watched a smaller group talk and tried to deduce each member.

First, he looked at a girl with shoulder length, light brown hair. _Boring_ , Sherlock decided.

Next, he looked to a taller boy, with a few stray grey hairs. He looked at least two years older than them. He must be in the sixth form. _Boring_.

Sherlock looked at the next girl. She was short, smiling, had her long hair tied back in a ponytail, and genuinely looked like a nice person. _Dull_.

Finally, Sherlock turned his attention to the last member of the group. He was shorter than the rest, but had a sturdy frame and firm arms. He was tanned, so he'd recently come back from his holiday. He had a warm smile on his face which looked like it could brighten any room. His hair was short, tufty and blond, and his eyes were a beautiful blue with flecks of warm brown. His nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken a few times, probably through rugby. _Definitely not boring_ , he concluded.

Sherlock was knocked out of his trance by the taller boy clapping the shorter boy on the back.

"Tell us about your holiday then, Watson. How many girls did you get?" The older boy said, in the typical rowdy manner teenage boys often had.

_Watson. Watson. Watson. No. Not Watson. Anything but my Watson._ Sherlock thought, still watching and listening.

"Well, let's just say I didn't just get girls," Watson said with a smirk and a small laugh, causing the two girls to laugh and the taller boy to pull Watson into his side.

Sherlock smiled a little at that and took his phone out of his pocket to look like he was waiting for someone and not stood listening to a stranger's conversation.

"Good lad, Johnny!" The taller boy said and grinned.

_John Watson. My John Watson._ He was Sherlock's care. Sherlock's only care. The one thing that made him want to leave the stupid, posh school. His best friend. The boy who protected him from so many bullies. The boy who took every last bit of leaf out of his hair when Sebastian Moran dumped a large pile of them over his head in year four. The boy who always had a plaster in his pocket when Sherlock scuffed his knees or got stung by bee. The boy who gave him tissues to stop him from crying when he realised that a bee died when it stung somebody. His best friend. His only friend.

_He won't remember me. This was a stupid idea. He won't care. I don't care._

Sherlock had stopped listening and began to turn away, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. He noticed that the exits were by people, slowly getting more and more drunk, and decided to sit down in the living room instead of getting noticed by other people when he left.

As the evening progressed, Sherlock got more and more bored and more and more upset. John had looked in his direction four times as hadn't done so much as smiled. The teenagers around him had quickly left sober territory and were sweeping past 'tipsy' territory. Two people had fallen on him and quickly apologised, though it was incredibly slurred, and one person had almost spilled a tray of shots over him. Sherlock, however, stayed sober, knowing his mother would murder him if he was to have alcohol under the legal age. If he was perfectly honest, he didn't want to drink anyway. It seemed pointless.

Another hour passed and Sherlock decided to give up. He stood up and walked towards the slightly clearer doorway, until someone tapped him on the shoulder. He slowly turned to look at who it was. It was the taller boy.

"My mate, over there, thinks you're gorgeous and he's a bit sad that you're going before he could speak to you," he said, relatively clearly, and pointed to John Watson, who looked rather intoxicated, but was still able to hold a conversation.

"O-okay," Sherlock said with a nod and let the taller boy led him across to John.

"Hey, you didn't leave!" John said with a big smile and put his arm around Sherlock's shoulder the second he arrived. He turned the two of them around and walked them to an empty arm chair. He sat down first and then let Sherlock sit on his lap. "I'm John. And I haven't seen you around here before," the older teen said, his smile a bit lopsided.

_He doesn't remember me. Or recognise me. Lie. Lie! LIE!_

"I'm new. Well, new to your school," Sherlock said and tried to think up a fake name. "I'm William. William Scott."

"Well, Will Scott, you have a very nice face." Sherlock blushed. And not just a little bit. A lot. "Oh, now that is the most adorable thing I've ever seen! My god, you're so cute," John laughed a little and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's middle.

Sherlock smiled shyly and looked away from John. He couldn't believe this was happening. Even though it was more than likely just a drunk thing, it was still amazing. "I suppose you haven't seen your smile then," he replied and smiled more himself.

Then it was John's turn to blush. He gently began to move his hand in a circle around Sherlock's back, his eyes not leaving Sherlock. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you, my mother would kill me."

"I most certainly don't want that to happen." John frowned and shook his head, then moved slightly closer to Sherlock.

"Me neither," Sherlock said, slowing down as he spoke.

"I want to kiss you now, is that okay?" John asked quietly, leaning in a bit more.

"Y-yes. But, um, I'm not that good at, uh, kissing," Sherlock stammered a bit as John moved his hand up to cup Sherlock's cheek.

"That's okay," John said softly. "I'm quite bad. And rather sloppy at times." He leaned in that final inch and brushed his lips against Sherlock's, keeping it surprisingly light and nice given that he was rather drunk. He pulled back after a few seconds for some air, but Sherlock decided against that and kissed him again, this time with a little more force, which John reciprocated.

They sat that way for most of the night. John spoke, Sherlock replied with something 'adorable', they kissed, then John spoke again and so on and so forth.

"So you're going to my school in September?" John asked as he pulled back from another kiss.

"Yes. I'm finally free from the ridiculously pompous hellhole I used to attend."

"That bad?"

"It's dreadful."

"Just wait until you see our school. It's... not the best. Quite shit, if I'm honest."

"Well you go there, so there's a very large pro," Sherlock said quietly, blushing when he realised what he's said.

"Aww, Will, you're so cute!" John exclaimed, beaming, and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again, much rougher this time.

Sherlock blushed more as he kissed John back, pushing him further and further back against the chair.

As the evening turned into the early hours of the morning, the living room began to get emptier and emptier, so much so that it was just Sherlock and John, the nice girl (Molly, apparently) and another boy (who was called Tom, according to John), the taller boy (G...Gavin? Graham?), the dull girl (Sarah. Eugh, Sarah.) and a few other people who Sherlock couldn't remember and didn't want to. No, his attention was on John Watson. His John Watson. His care.

"Can I have your number?" John asked quietly as he pulled Sherlock down to rest his head on his chest.

"Y-yeah, of course," Sherlock said with a small nod and smiled. "I'll put it in your phone." Sherlock knew his number by heart, so didn't bother to check his phone for it, resulting in him not seeing the twelve texts and seven missed calls from his mother and sixteen texts and four missed calls from Mycroft.

John took his phone back when he was done and smiled as he saw the new contact, though it was quite blurry to him. "Thank you, William Scott," he said sweetly and pressed a kiss into Sherlock's hair. "I think... I think that we should go back to my house... and, well, we'd have to be a bit quiet, but we could have a bit of fun in my bedroom, what do you think?" He mumbled to Sherlock, hoping only he would hear.

_Sex. He means sex. John Watson wants to have some form of sex with you. This could be your only chance... Say yes. Say yes!_

"Yes. Yes, I think we should too," Sherlock said and lifted his head, kissing John slowly.

John grinned manically once he'd pulled away from the kiss and gently ushered Sherlock off his lap so they could leave. "Come on then, we'll sneak off, shh." He put his finger on his lip, missing it slightly and hitting the tip of his nose. Just as John began to pull Sherlock through the living room, a familiar man in a well-tailored suit and a stern expression walked into the room.

_Oh shit._

"Home. Now," Mycroft demanded and pointed to the door.

"No," Sherlock replied, his hand holding on to John's tight. "I'm going home with John."

"You most certainly are not," Mycroft said, with a small cynical laugh. He gently pushed John aside and grabbed the back of Sherlock's collar, beginning to walk out of the room with him.

Sherlock struggled against Mycroft's grip and tried to get back to John. "Get off me! Mycroft!"

"Will! I'll call you!" John said, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't be going home with him that night.

Mycroft dragged Sherlock all the way to his car and then all the way up the porch steps when they got home. He received a lecture from Mycroft in the car, a lecture from Mummy when he got home, and a firm warning from Father after he'd brushed his teeth. But Sherlock didn't care. He'd spent most the night snogging John Watson. He was over the bloody moon!


	3. Chapter 2

_ 11:43am  _

**From unknown number** : William Scott?

 **To unknown number** : John Watson?

 **From unknown number** : Yes. Are you the guy I snogged last night?

 **To John Watson** : Yes. Until my brother dragged me away.

 **From John Watson** : I remember now!

 **To John Watson** : Brilliant.

 **To John Watson** : Is that a bad remembering?

 **From John Watson** : Not at all.

 **To John Watson** : Thank God.

 **From John Watson** : You're adorable.

 **To John Watson** : You said that a lot last night.

 **From John Watson** : At least I have some sense when I'm drunk.

 **To John Watson** : You're ridiculous.

 **From John Watson** : I know. ;)

 **From John Watson** : So Will Scott, did you enjoy last night?

 **To John Watson** : Very much. I was about to leave when your friend, Gavin, stopped me.

 **From John Watson** : I don't have a friend called Gavin.

 **To John Watson** : I'm sure you said his name was Gavin.

 **From John Watson** : Describe him to me.

 **To John Watson** : Tall, dark hair (but going grey early), well-built, probably in the sixth form.

 **From John Watson** : He's called Greg.

 **To John Watson** : Whatever. Practically the same name.

 **From John Watson** : It's not, but whatever you say.

 **From John Watson** : Greg likes the look of your brother, by the way. He asked me to try get his number off you.

 **To John Watson** : No. For the sake of your friend, no.

 **From John Watson** : Oh, come on, it would be cute if we all went on dates together.

 **To John Watson** : 1) No dates with my brother. 2) Dates?

 **From John Watson** : Let down :P Also, yes, dates. I'd like to date you. Get to know you better.

 **To John Watson** : I'd like that a lot.

 **From John Watson** : We'll leave it until school starts, I have a lot of homework to do.

 **To John Watson** : That's fine, I can wait. I'm free whenever you are.

 **From John Watson** : Fantastic.

 **From John Watson** : I wish you'd have been able to come home with me last night.

 **To John Watson** : Me too. But like I said, my brother dragged me home. My parents weren't all that happy with me staying out late.

 **From John Watson** : Do you want to meet up some time in the week? Not for a date, but for a chat, maybe some ice cream?

 **To John Watson** : Isn't coffee the usual purchase people make when meeting up?

 **From John Watson** : Yeah, but I think ice cream is more your thing.

 **To John Watson** : I'd like that a lot.

 **From John Watson** : Awesome. I'll let you know closer to the time.

 **To John Watson** : Good. Very good. I can't wait.

 **From John Watson** : Me either. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go throw up, talk to you later. x

 **To John Watson** : Lovely.


	4. Chapter 3

Sherlock and John texted each other throughout the week, both enjoying reacquainting each other. Well, John still thought that Sherlock was 'Will Scott', but that was a minor detail. They spoke about all sorts, though Sherlock didn't talk about much of his early childhood, as the main focus of that was John. John had told Sherlock that he was free on Saturday after rugby practice if he wanted to meet up still, and Sherlock agreed. Of course he agreed.

"Good morning Mummy, good morning Father," he said, surprisingly happily, and sat at the table with them, beginning to help himself to some scrambled eggs and toast.

"Good morning, darling," Mrs Holmes, Violet, replied cheerfully, whilst giving her husband a look.

Sherlock didn't reply and began to eat his breakfast, he had other things on his mind. Mainly John and kissing John again.

"You're oddly happy this morning, my boy," Sherlock's father, William, said and folded his newspaper.

"I know," Sherlock replied passively and ate some of the scrambled egg.

William didn't know what else he could say, so instead he sipped at his tea and looked to Violet.

"What have you got planned today?" Violet asked and stood up to make Sherlock a glass of juice. "Any experiments?"

"No," Sherlock mumbled and looked down at his breakfast. "I'm going out. To see John," he mumbled, like it was no big change.

"John? John Watson?" William asked, looking over his glasses.

"You haven't met up with him in years."

"Yes, that's why I'm doing it. We're going for ice cream. I'm meeting him at eleven o'clock after he's finished his rugby practice," Sherlock said and smiled up at his father. A genuine smile. One that hadn't been seen since he was eleven.

"Oh that's lovely, Sherlock. John is such a lovely boy. It's a shame you've been apart for so long," Violet said and placed the glass of juice on the table, gently patting Sherlock on the back.

"It's hardly our fault we lost contact, Mummy. You sent me to the wrong school," Sherlock said with a sigh. He picked up the glass and sipped at it lightly before placing it down and returning to his scrambled eggs and toast.

"We sent you to a good school, Sherlock," Violet corrected and joined them at the table.

"You sent me to Mycroft's school," Sherlock retorted then rolled his eyes. "If anything it makes it a bad school."

Both parents sighed in unison. Those boys were always getting at each other, though, Sherlock did it more often then Mycroft. Deep down they did love each other, as siblings do, but they didn't express it to each other. Never that. Sentiment, in Mycroft's words, was forbidden. Well, not from William and Violet. It was odd that the boys turned out the way they did. Most of the time, people wouldn't put them and the younger Holmeses together.

"It was an exceptional school, you didn't give it a chance," William sighed and shook his head.

"I'd have given it a chance if I wanted to go there. I wanted to be with John."

"The local comprehensive had a 'satisfactory' OFSTED rating, your old school had an 'excellent'," Violet said quietly, they'd had the conversation many times before now.

"Whatever. You made me lose my best friend. And now I'm meeting up with him again," Sherlock said and smiled at both of his parents. He took his now clear plate across to the sink and brushed his hands together. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready," he said politely and excused himself from the kitchen - too much time in there with his parents was tedious.

 

* * *

 

John was standing outside the post office at 11:30, as promised, when Sherlock arrived. He was wearing similar clothes to what he wore to the party - a plaid shirt with a woolly jumper and baggy jeans. Which Sherlock found odd, who'd wear a jumper in summer? The answer was obvious when he thought about it. John Watson is someone who'd wear jumpers in summer.

Sherlock approached John slowly, a soft smile finding it's way to his face. The John smile. Because only John could get him to smile like that. He briefly reminded himself to respond to the name 'Will' as he took that final step towards John.

"Morning, Will," John said chirpily and grinned. He put his phone away and put his full attention on Sherlock.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock replied lowly. He didn't want to come across as too eager or too excited. No, that would make John feel strange. He didn't want that. "This is an odd place to meet," he commented and looked around.

"The post office? I always meet people here," John laughed a little and shook his head. "It's a sort of neutral spot."

"Hmm, I suppose it is." John scuffed his shoes on the floor a little before checking the time on his watch. "Shall we get going then?" He asked and began to slowly walk in the direction of the local ice cream parlor.

"Yeah," Sherlock replied and followed John closely, but not too close. Not a date. Not a date. Not a date, Sherlock reminded himself mentally.

They walked in silence until John took hold of Sherlock's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Have you had gelato before?"

Sherlock took a few seconds to respond, mainly due to shock. "Uhm, yes, actually, I went on holiday to Italy a few years ago. My brother and I got a batch specially made."

"Well, I can't promise you that here," John laughed and squeezed Sherlock's hand a little. "But it's still amazingly good."

Sherlock smiled still, his mind more focused on their hands. "That's okay."

"So are your parents still mad at you?" John asked as they turned the last corner before the ice cream parlor.

"Sort of. But they get distracted by Mycroft, so it's all well and good," Sherlock muttered effortlessly. John looked at Sherlock and then forward again quickly.

"My parents are similar with my sister. But she's always getting into trouble, so their attention is on her."

"My attention would always be on you," Sherlock said with a hint of a smile, his cheeks turning a little red.

"You're such a cutie, Will," John said and lifted their joined hands to kiss Sherlock's. "I mean, my parents obviously pay attention to me. They're brilliant. But Harry is the priority sometimes."

"Your parents are very nice people, John," Sherlock said without realising that 'Will Scott' had never met John's parents.

"How do you know that?" John asked slowly, becoming confused.

"I believe I've seen them in the shops once or twice. You look just like your Dad," Sherlock said, trying to seem calm about it, and not at all panicked. _Good save, Sherlock, good save._

"Oh right," John said and shook his head a little. "I thought you'd stalked me and my family or something," he laughed a little. And Sherlock joined in, though his was more of a nervous laugh.

When they arrived at the parlor, John held the door open for Sherlock, then led him across to his favourite corner seat.

"I always sit here," John commented as they sat down together - extremely close, Sherlock noticed.

"It's a good spot," Sherlock agreed and rested his hands on the table.

"You stay here, and I'll order us a big bowl of ice cream," John said and stood up again, kissing Sherlock's cheek once before he left.

Sherlock smiled as he watched John walk to the counter. He honestly couldn't believe how lucky he was. Not that John himself was a huge accomplishment to everyone else, but having John back in his life in general was a miracle to him. He thought it would never happen. But it did. It had. And Sherlock thought he'd never be happier.

John returned to the table five minutes later with a large bow of ice cream covered in sprinkles, chocolate, sauces and chunks of banana, the ultimate ice cream dish really. He put it down between him and Sherlock and handed Sherlock a spoon. But what he did next did confuse Sherlock slightly.

John scooped a small amount of ice cream onto his spoon and held it up to Sherlock's mouth. _Why would he do that?_ Sherlock thought. _He just gave me a spoon to eat off._ He didn't want to come across as inexperienced or stupid, but he needed to know. He gave John and unsure look to which John laughed a little.

"I'm going to feed you, and you can feed me. If you want. I just think it's cute," John explained and lowered the spoon a bit.

"Oh, I see," Sherlock said in realisation. "Let's do that," he added with a nod and scooped up some ice cream.

At the same time, both boys moved their spoon towards the others mouth while opening their own. The short process lasted longer than it usually would, but eventually they both ended up with a scoop of ice cream in their mouths. John laughed when he brought his spoon down and let the ice cream melt in his mouth.

"My god, you really are adorable!"

"What was adorable about that?" Sherlock asked, chuckling along with John.

"Just how slow it was."

"How rude!"

"Shush and feed me more ice cream."


	5. Chapter 4

After ice cream, John and Sherlock walked around the nearest park, holding hands and enjoying each other's company. John told Sherlock about his holiday, and Sherlock told John about how awful his school was. They then talked about their siblings more, but just as Sherlock began to talk about Mycroft he received a text from said brother informing him that he needed to return home. The boys shared a small kiss, or three small kisses, before departing at the post office and walking home. It had take Sherlock a strong insistence to make John let him walk home alone. Mainly because he didn't want him to recognise the house, that would give the game away.

When Sherlock arrived home, he attacked Mycroft with a series of questions about why it was so urgent that he got home as fast as he could. When he received the answer, Sherlock was not pleased in the slightest.

"Uniform?! You made me leave John to buy a new uniform?!" Sherlock yelled at Mycroft, stomping his feet as he began to pace.

"Mummy asked me to do this, Sherlock, do not pin the blame on me," Mycroft replied calmly and let out a small sigh.

"I'd have had the uniform years ago had I have gone to John's school!"

"Stop shouting at me."

Sherlock stopped pacing and crossed his arms, his stance sturdy. "What are you going to do? Tell Mummy and Father on me?"

"I'll call Grandmère."

He pulled the Grandmère card. Oh, Mycroft was good.

"I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft. You can't use Grandmère against me," Sherlock said bitterly and began to walk to the front door, just like Mycroft wanted him to.

"And you cannot use your school against me, as you no longer attend it. Now come along. Mummy wants you to have a brand new uniform, and several items of each," Mycroft sighed again, he hated being given the tedious job of shopping with Sherlock.

* * *

"I'm home!" John called as he walked through the front door of his house. He wiped his feet on the doormat several times before kicking his shoes off and setting them on the rack by the door. His mother, Carol, was very particular about shoes in the house.

The coolness of the tiled floor in the kitchen was refreshing on John's feet as he walked through to greet his parents and get a drink.

"You're home early," John's father, Alan, commented and checked his watch. "I thought you'd be out until at least three o'clock."

"I know, Will had to go home," John replied, a little sadly, as he took a glass from the cupboard. He then walked across to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "It's a shame really, things were going well."

"What did you say his last name was, John?" Carol asked curiously, closing the fridge door as John had left it open.

"Scott. He said he's lived here for years, but he went to a boarding school," the teenager said before taking a sip of his orange juice. He walked across to the kitchen table and sat down with his Dad.

"Scott? I don't think I recall seeing his family at all..." Carol said, becoming lost in thought. 

 

"Your friend Sherlock went to a boarding school, didn't he?" Alan commented and closed his laptop. "Look at you, attracting all the posh boys," he teased and pinched John's cheek playfully.

"Dad!" John laughed and pulled away."I don't attract /all/ posh boys. Just Will."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alan sighed and looked away, still grinning.

"Really. I'm not a posh boy magnet," John insisted and leaned back in his chair.

Alan laughed and shook his head. "Oh, my Johnny boy." John lightly shoved Alan's shoulder before drinking the rest of his juice and standing up.

"I'm going to my room." He began to walked out of the kitchen, dragging his feet a little.

"Going to text your boyfriend?" Alan teased again, earning himself a light, but scolding, tap on the shoulder from Carol.

"Not this time, he's busy, so I'm going to play on Call of Duty," John said and left the room before quickly running up the stairs. "And he's not my boyfriend yet!"

"I'll put your glass in the dishwasher then," Carol called up after him with a few tuts.

* * *

_[5:58pm]_

**From William Scott** : I hate my brother.

 **To William Scott:** What's he done now?

 **From William Scott** : He made me go uniform shopping.

 **To William Scott** : But that's a good thing! It means you're closer to coming to my school.

 **From William Scott** : Shopping, John. I detest shopping.

 **To William Scott** : It's now my goal to make you like shopping.

 **From William Scott** : That's not going to happen.

 **To William Scott** : Maybe...

 **From William Scott** : You're ridiculous.

 **To William Scott** : You're adorable.

 **From William Scott** : You're deranged.

 **To William Scott** : You must be too.

 **From William Scott** : Thank you for today.

 **To William Scott** : You're very welcome. I enjoyed it a lot. Especially those last few seconds.

 **From William Scott** : Me too. I wouldn't mind replaying those last few seconds again.

 **To William Scott** : See, you're adorable.

 **From William Scott** : Your school uniform is very tasteless.

 **To William Scott** : You should see the rugby kit. It's green and yellow!

 **From William Scott** : That sounds hideous.

 **To William Scott** : It is.

 **From William Scott** : But I bet you make it look good.

 **To William Scott** : You're such a flirt!

 **From William Scott** : You turned me into this.

 **To William Scott** : I suppose I did.

 **From William Scott** : Exactly.

 **To William Scott** : I have to go, Will, Mum wants help cooking tea, talk to you later. xx

 **From William Scott** : I wish those were real kisses. x


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for leaving this for so long. I had a busy few weeks. It's here now.

September the third came round soon enough and school began next day. Sherlock and John would be entering year eleven and tackling their GCSEs. It scared John a bit, but Sherlock wasn't all that bothered about it. He was excited though, he was glad that he could finally go to school with John, like when they were little. Except this time there was the added bonus of dating. But still, there was only one tiny detail that could ruin everything: John still thought he was William Scott. That was something that Mycroft had picked up on.

"You do know, baby brother, that you cannot keep up this false persona for much longer," Mycroft mumbled and turned the page of the newspaper with a sigh.

"Yes, I do," Sherlock almost snapped. He was beginning to hate himself for making such a poor decision.

"What do you intend to do about it? School starts tomorrow, he's going to find out," Mycroft continued and began to focus more on his newspaper. He'd done what he wanted to do, and that was to get Sherlock thinking. He did care for his brother, and even though he'd made a ridiculous decision, he wanted to make sure he was prepared for what was going to happen.

"I... I don't know. He'll be angry. I've lied to him. He'll hate that," Sherlock muttered quickly. "He'll hate me. Or will he? He might be happy to know that I'm me. But what if he preferred William Scott? But William Scott is me. I can't do it, Mycroft. I'm going to lose him," he said, quite desperately and looked to his older brother.

The elder Holmes brother was silent for a few seconds. He folded the newspaper up and set it down on the coffee table. "This is your dilemma, Sherlock. You put yourself in this position. You didn't think it through. And now you must face the consequences." And with that, he stood and left the living room, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

_[6:23pm]_

**To John Watson:** I'm not feeling well.

**From John Watson:** No! You can't be ill! Tomorrow is your first day!

**To John Watson** : Unfortunately my immune system is failing me.

**From John Watson:** You're fibbing.

**From John Watson:** What's the matter? Are you scared?

**To John Watson:** A little, yes.

**From John Watson:** Don't be. This year of school is going to be fantastic. Just you wait.

**To John Watson:** There's a chance it won't be.

**From John Watson:** Oh, Will, always the pessimistic.

**To John Watson:** Always? We've know each other for a matter of weeks.

**From John Watson:** I feel like I've known you forever.

**To John Watson:** Very sweet, John.

**From John Watson:** Everything will be okay. Just have a nice, long bath and relax. Then have an early night. I'll meet you at the post office so we can walk to school together.

**To John Watson:** Mummy suggested that as well. She said a bath will "do me good".

**To John Watson:** Mummy also decided that she's taking me to school tomorrow. She wants to drop me off on my first day. I'll still see you though.

**From John Watson:** I'll meet you outside school then. And we can walk home together. Now go have a bath and get into bed, young man.

**To John Watson:** Yes, John. See you tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock didn't sleep well at all that night. Every time he managed to nod off, thoughts of John came to him. John being angry with him. He really didn't want that, not at all. But it was bound to happen. Of course it was. All because of a stupid, stupid decision. After he'd slept for what felt like two minutes, Violet was sweeping into the teenager's bedroom and opening the curtains.

"Rise and shine, my darling," she chimed and walked across to the wardrobe, taking out Sherlock's new school uniform. She then made her way over to his socks and pants draw and picked out a pair of each before setting it all down on his desk chair. "Your uniform is all here. I want you dressed and downstairs in ten minutes. Your father is cooking breakfast."

Sherlock groaned in response and buried himself further into the bed. "No."

"Come on, Sherlock," Violet said with a sigh and pulled the blankets from over his head. "Wake up, please. You're going to be late."

Before Sherlock could say anything else, his mother had left the room and closed the door behind her. He groggily sat up in bed and pushed his hand through his hair. "Goodbye, William Scott," he muttered and climbed out of bed. "Hello, most hated boy in school."

He got dressed quite quickly, making sure that his tie was tied correctly and his collar was straight. With a sigh, he pulled on the horrible dark green jumper and looked at himself in the mirror. It really was a completely new him. Also his hair was astoundingly messy. That was a must fix. He spent the next few minutes rearranging his hair and brushing product through it to get it to stay put - which it thankfully did. After he was all ready, he walked down the stairs silently and sat down at the kitchen table, helping himself to breakfast.

"Cheer up, Sherlock, you're going to John's school," William said and patted his shoulder gently.

"I don't want to go to school."

"Don't want to go?" William repeated in shock. "But you've wanted to go there for near on five years!"

"And now I don't want to," Sherlock countered and pushed the bacon around his plate.

William sighed and sat down next to Sherlock. "My boy, I know new schools are scary, but this is what you wanted. I'm sure that in a few days you'll be all settled in. You've got John and his friends to look after you and sit with you. That's more than what you had at your old school."

"I had Mycroft," Sherlock admitted very, very quietly.

"Mycroft won't be there, unfortunately. But you are definitely going to be alright. I promise," William said and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Now eat up, Mummy wants to drop us both off today."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked him curiously, his Father very rarely got dropped off anywhere.

"To work, Sherlock," William said and laughed a little. Sherlock frowned.

"But you _walk_ to work."

William looked over his shoulder at the door, making sure Violet wasn't there. "I know, but I don't dare decline your mother's offer," he whispered and smiled brightly.

 

* * *

 

The car ride was tedious. Violet enthused endlessly about how smart Sherlock looked in his new uniform, and about how this would be a fresh start for him. And what made it worse was that she was right. Well, about the "fresh start" bit, Sherlock thought his uniform was disgusting. Violet stopped the car just outside of the school gates and gave Sherlock a quick lecture on what he was to do when he got to the reception. Sherlock then climbed out of the car and rolled his eyes as Violet said "quick kiss goodbye" while leaning her head out of the car window.

"Have a good day, my darling," she continued and a sat up straight again. "Don't cause any trouble."

"And most importantly, enjoy yourself," William added with a big smile.

Sherlock nodded and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. "Goodbye Mummy, goodbye Father," he said and began to walk through the school gates.

It was obvious that he'd receive a few stares from other students who didn't know him, that was one of the disadvantages of being the new boy. He kept his head down and continued walking towards the reception. Or what he assumed was the reception. He didn't want a fuss. He didn't want to be in the limelight.

He pushed the door to the reception open and walked straight to the main desk. He cleared his throat and waited patiently for someone to address him. When someone finally did, he let out a small sigh of relief.

"Good morning, I'm new, and my mother told me to come straight here," Sherlock said politely, he didn't want to get into trouble that quick.

"You must be William Holmes?" The receptionist said chirpily.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock corrected. "I go by Sherlock, not William."

"I see, _Sherlock_ ," she laughed a little. "Your parents have already filled out all the forms necessary. We'll send for someone to take you to registration at ten to nine, so if you'll just take a seat in the room over there, that would be lovely."

"Yes, okay. Thank you," Sherlock said and scurried over to the room,his phone vibrating in his pocket. As he sat down, he took his phone out and bit his lip. It was a text from John.

**From John Watson:** I just saw you.

**To John Watson:** I didn't see you.

**From John Watson:** You look beautiful.

**To John Watson:** I'm sure you do as well.

He quickly turned off the vibrate on his phone and waited, holding his hands over his face. He had never regretted a small lie so much in his life.

 

* * *

 

"Sherlock," the receptionist said as she walked into the waiting room. "This is Molly, she's in your registration group."

Sherlock instantly recognised her from the party. He hoped she didn't recognise him. He stood up and walked across to her, his hand extended for her to shake. "Pleasure to meet you, Molly."

"You're Will, right?" She asked and shook his hand.

"He goes by Sherlock," the receptionist corrected and returned to the desk where another student was waiting. Sherlock was beginning to like her.

"Oh, right, sorry," Molly said quickly and began to lead Sherlock out of the reception. "So, uh, welcome to the school," she said and gestured around her. "Our registration group is 11a. We're the top group in the school. Well, supposed to be. Half of them aren't at all that clever." She blushed a little as she spoke. That made Sherlock laugh a little.

"I attended the same primary school as a few of the students here," Sherlock said, smiling ever so slightly. "The same one as John Watson, Sebastian Moran, and a few others. So I may know a few people."

"Oh, John's in our class!" Molly said happily, smiling brightly. "You were with John at Mike's party, weren't you?"

"Uhm, yes. I was," Sherlock mumbled, smile fading.

"He's so smitten with you! He barely shuts up about you," she continued and held the door open for him.

"He's a very lovely person," Sherlock commented.

"You should tell him that you prefer Sherlock, else he'll call you Will forever."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He felt guilty.

"Class 11a," the girl announced and stopped outside the door. "After you."

Sherlock let out a long breath and walked into the classroom, instantly noticing John in the corner, grinning away. "Shit," he muttered under his breath and walked to the from desk with Molly. He let Molly do all the talking, and listened to what his registration tutor, Mr Stephens, had to say.

"I'll just introduce you," he said and stood up from his chair. "11a look this way, please. This is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, he's new to the school. I believe he already knows a few of you, so be nice to him."

Sherlock stared down at his feet, not wanting to see John's reaction. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to crawl into a tight space and cry.

John stared at Sherlock, no traces of a smile. He wasn't William Scott at all. Why would he lie to him? Why? Yes, John was happy that it was Sherlock, he was his best friend in primary school. He'd missed him so much. But why did he lie to him? Why would he do that? Thoughts flew through the teenagers head, realisation of everything. He should have recognised him. His brother's name was a huge give away, and he didn't notice that! Everything fitted into place now. And he was angry. He continued to stare Sherlock down as Molly walked the boy across to their table, hoping Sherlock would pick up on how John felt.

"Hi, _Sherlock_ ," John almost spat, the stare slowly turning into a glare.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock replied and looked down at the table. It was going to be a very long day.


	7. Chapter 6

For Sherlock, the rest of the day was hell. Though he didn't want to show it too much. As it was the start of the school year, most the classes all had new seating plans. Given that Sherlock's last names was Holmes and Molly's last name was Hooper, they got seated next to each other, which Sherlock was thankful for. Although, he could feel John's glare from behind him. After two lessons, English and History, they had a quick break. Molly told Sherlock that he had to sit with her and her friends, John being one of them.

Sherlock had honestly never felt so guilty in his life. He didn't want to talk to John, he knew that he's just start making excuses and that was bound to make John angrier. So he stayed silent.

After break they had Chemistry, and Sherlock chose to sit next to Molly. He liked Molly. She was clever, nice, and didn't question much. He felt like she was somebody he could trust. She also showed a keen interest for the sciences - an added bonus. Molly attempted to make small talk with Sherlock through out the lessons, which Sherlock didn't mind, it took his mind off the boy who was still glaring at him from the other side of the room.

After Chemistry was lunch, and Molly made Sherlock sit with her friends in the dining hall again. He paid more attention to who was at the table this time. There was John, of course, Molly, Sarah(?), Tom, Mike, a girl called Mary, Mary's friend Janine, and the boy from sixth form who was at Mike's party, who was called... Graham? ("He's called Greg").

"So, new boy," Greg, who wasn't called Graham, began and moved to sit in the empty chair next to Sherlock. "What do you think of the school?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded. "It's very nice."

That made the group laugh. "Aw, mate, you don't have to lie to us, we all know how crap it is," Mike said and picked at his salad.

"John said that you went to a posh school, anyway," Sarah said softly, laughing a little. "Here must be a dump."

Sherlock looked around the dining hall and shrugged. "I've seen worse."

The group laughed again. Well, John didn't, he focused on his food.

"Why would you want to come here anyway?" Greg asked and put a crisp in his mouth.

"I got kicked out of my old school," Sherlock said simply and picked at his finger nails.

"Oh my god, what for?" Molly asked eagerly.

Sherlock's cheeks tinted pink. "Erm, I... I... I may have set fire to a lab..." he muttered. "On more than one occasion..." he added.

Greg clapped him on the back and laughed. "That's amazing! Got ourselves a little rebel here. You did well, John!"

John hummed halfheartedly and turned to talk to Mary. That made Sherlock jealous. But he had to remember that they never established a relationship, they just flirted and kissed a bit. He started to pick at his fingers again, trying to block John out of his mind.

The rest of the group continued talking throughout lunch, Greg told them about how well sixth form was going and about how badly he did in his AS levels. They all gave him sympathy and told him he'd be able to pull his grades up again. Sherlock liked that about them. They supported each other. He was beginning to feel more comfortable with them. Well, that was until John stood up and walked around to Sherlock.

He tapped his shoulder and moved his mouth to his ear. "We need to talk. Come walk with me."

Sherlock nodded and stood up, taking the hand that John was offering him. John seemed less angry now. Mary must have calmed him down. The two walked out of the dinner hall and down the corridor to their registration room, which was luckily empty.

John closed the door behind them and dumped his bag on the desk. He was quiet for a few seconds, steadying his breathing.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" John asked, more upset than angry. He didn't raise his voice at all, if anything his voice got quieter. "Why lie to me?"

Sherlock stared down at his feet. "I was scared," he almost whispered.

"Scared? Of me? Are you serious? We've been best friends since we were tiny," John sighed and shook his head. "I really don't understand why you'd do that."

"I've had four years of hell at my old school, there were bullies and you couldn't stop them. You weren't there," Sherlock began to explain and rubbed his hands over his eyes. "You haven't spoken to me for four years. I thought I'd lost you. So when I saw you at Mike's party, I panicked."

"But you let it go on for so long," John retorted and kicked the closest chair to him. "If you'd have said 'sorry, John, I told you a fib' I wouldn't be this angry and upset."

Sherlock flinched when John kicked the chair, he walked to the other side of the room and stared out of the window. "You didn't recognise me."

"You've grown up, of course I didn't. The Sherlock I remember was a chubby cheeked little toerag, and now you're... you're this! You're freaking gorgeous!" John exclaimed and took a deep breath. "We can't see each other anymore. Not like we did before. No more kissing and flirting. We're done. The dinner hall is just down the corridor then turn right. Tell the others I've gone to do some homework."

And with that, John picked up his bag and left the room, leaving Sherlock alone.

Sherlock cried a little, but kept it quiet. He took a deep breath to try calm himself down and wiped his eyes. He then walked back to the table where he put his bag and got his phone out to text the one person who could tell him what to do.

**To Mycroft Holmes:** He hates me. I've hurt him. He's more angry than upset.

The reply was almost instant.

**From Mycroft Holmes:** John Watson is a good person. Give him time. Don't pester him.

**To Mycroft Holmes:** But what do I do? I can't sit with his friends.

**From Mycroft Holmes:** Do you know where your next lesson is?

**To Mycroft Holmes:** No. I've been following Molly around all morning.

**From Mycroft Holmes:** Stick with Molly.

**To Mycroft Holmes:** Okay. Thank you.

Sherlock gave himself a few minutes to calm down and returned to the dinner hall. He say down with Molly and the others in silence. Mary was the first to ask about John, which made Sherlock quite jealous. He told Mary and the rest of the group where John had gone, but nothing else. Mary gave Sherlock a few sympathetic looks then started talking to Janine again. Sherlock didn't say much else. He nodded and shook his head when appropriate. But he was more focused on John. He'd ruined everything.

 

* * *

 

After lunch Sherlock had Maths. Due to there already being a seating plan made, Sherlock was added to the end and wasn't sat next to Molly. Instead he was sat next to the one person who hated him at that moment in time. John. He sat down silently and took his pencil case out of his bag. He could feel John's eyes on him again. But he didn't look up. He couldn't. He knew he'd cry again.

The pair listened to their teacher, making notes when necessary. About ten minutes into the lesson, the class was given the main task of the lesson - which Sherlock found incredibly easy. John on the other hand didn't find it that easy.

"3a," Sherlock muttered and looked away from John's book. "The answer is 3a."

"How?" John asked, staring at his book, concentrating very hard.

"It's quite simple. You substitute the numbers and letters in, then simplify it down. 3a," Sherlock muttered with a small shrug.

"Oh," John said and nodded as he wrote down the answer. "Thanks Wil- Sherlock." His tone changed from friendly to resentful.

"It's not a problem, John," Sherlock said quietly and finished the final question. They didn't speak again until the end of the lesson when John accidentally elbowed Sherlock and a brief "sorry" was uttered. After the class had been dismissed, Sherlock almost instantly returned to Molly's side and listened to what she had to say about the next lesson. She told Sherlock that she wouldn't be in that lesson because he'd be in the A-Level group instead - due to him being very advanced.

"I've just text Greg, so if you wait for him outside here he'll take you to lesson," she said with a small smile.

"Okay," Sherlock said and nodded.

"He'll look after you," Molly added and laughed a little. "John, are you coming?"

"Yeah," John muttered and left the room with the others.

"See you later, Sherlock," Molly said as she left the room.

Sherlock nodded and walked outside of the classroom for Greg to turn up. He really, really wanted the next lesson to go fast, he couldn't handle not crying for much longer.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible human being. Apologies for the wait!

Sherlock's lesson with Greg went quite well. The lesson was challenging enough for him , yet he still understood what was learning. He also got to know Greg more. Which was quite an experience for him. Greg Lestrade was a very friendly and open person. Yes, he was incredibly forward, but he was nice. He cared about what Sherlock had to say. He wanted to know more about him. In a way, he reminded him of John. But Sherlock didn't want to think about John. By the end of the lesson, Greg had listened to Sherlock's explanation of what happened with John, and had given Sherlock his number.

"If you need to talk, just call me, yeah?" Greg said quietly, smiling still. "You're a good guy, Sherlock. And I can see why you did what you did. I think John'll come round soon. He's just a bit angry at the minute."

"I hope so. He means a lot to me," Sherlock said and wrote down a few notes from the whiteboard.

Greg was quiet for a second and did the same as Sherlock, though only a few words of it; he was far too lazy to write full sentences, especially on the first day back. "How long have you known him? Like, two weeks?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. More like ten years," he said quietly. "We went to primary school together. He was my best friend."

"Oh~," Greg said in understanding, everything becoming a lot clearer to him. "I see."

"I'm such an idiot," Sherlock sighed and held his head in his hands.

Greg patted him on the back then rubbed his hand back and forth. "It'll be alright. I promise."

The lesson finished twenty minutes later and Greg walked with him to the school gates. If Sherlock was honest, he didn't know the area that well - especially how to get from his house to school and back, so Greg walked him home, and didn't attempt to make small talk. That's something else Sherlock liked about Greg, he knew when to stop talking. That was something that Sherlock envied as well. He never seemed to know when to stop talking. They stopped at Sherlock's driveway and Greg gave Sherlock one last friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Call me if you need to talk, yeah?" Greg said with a smile. Sherlock nodded and attempted to smile back.

"Thank you. See you tomorrow."

"See ya later, mate."

Sherlock walked up his drive way and into the house. He dumped his bag on the floor and kicked off his shoes. He took a deep breath before he started to cry again and tried to find his mother.

"Mummy!" He called and began walking towards the kitchen. "Mummy!"

"Sherlock?" Mrs Holmes called back from the kitchen, becoming slightly protective when she saw Sherlock crying. "Oh, my darling, what's happened?" She asked as she pulled the fifteen year old into a hug.

"J-... J-John..." Sherlock said and let Violet hug him. He needed it. And not from anybody else.

"What about John? What did he do?" Violet asked softly and rubbed her hand up and down the boy's back -it had always soothed him.

Sherlock then began to explain everything that had happened between him and John, and told her how stupid he was for making such a big mistake and lying to John like that. Violet comforted him the best he could and told him that it would all get better. She hugged him for at least twenty minutes before she decided it would be best for them to sit down. She knew she'd have to explain a lot to William later on, but for now, she needed to work on calming Sherlock down.

* * *

John was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. He practically slammed the door when he got home, earning himself a stern warning from his mother, which he foolishly ignored and stomped up to his bedroom, slamming that door too. He was so annoyed, so upset, and so... disappointed. Did Sherlock really think that John would turn him down if he told him who he really was?

He led face down on his bed and growled into the pillow. He stayed that way for about ten minutes before he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Why was this all happening to him? Why hadn't he realised sooner? Why, why, why?!

He took a deep breath and sat up looking across to his CD player. He needed music. He got off his bed and chose a CD from the rack, _Yellow Submarine_ by _The Beatles_ , and put it in the player, ready to completely zone out. Once it had started playing the first song he laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, murmuring along with the music.

John stayed that way for a couple of hours, almost falling asleep but waking himself up when he thought about the events of the day, and when he changed the CD over to _Hot Fuss_ by _The Killers_. At around quarter past six, Alan knocked on his door, carrying a tray of dinner for him.

"Johnny? Your mum said you've been slamming doors, what's the matter?" He asked quietly and set the tray of food down on John's desk, then sat at the foot of his bed, a sympathetic smile on his face.

John was secretly glad that it was his Dad who came up to him, his Dad would maybe understand more. Not that his Mum wouldn't understand, he just felt more comfortable talking to his Dad about everything - especially relationships.

The teenager sat up and sighed. "Sherlock," he mumbled as he brought his knees up to his chest. He crossed his arms over his legs and rested his chin on them, staring into space. "He's started my school."

"Sherlock? As in little Sherlock? William and Violet's little Sherlock? Posh Sherlock? That's brilliant." Alan said, hoping for some clarification, he wanted to be on the right track.

It made John laugh a little, though. "Yeah, _Holmes_ ," he said, exaggerating a potentially easier form of clarification. "He, uhm... You know Will?"

Alan nodded slowly, a bit unsure why his son was now talking about a different boy. "Yeah, your boyfriend."

"Not my boyfriend," John corrected quickly and looked at the window, sighing a little. "Will is actually Sherlock. He lied to me." He rested his head on his knees and scrunched his eyes closed. "I... I mean, I'm not angry that he's Sherlock, I'm happy that he's him. Because, you know, he's my best friend, I... I just... He lied to me, you know, and it's like he didn't trust me."

"Oh, my Johnny boy," Alan said softly and moved to sit next to John. He rubbed his hand up and down his back a few times before pulling him into his side. "It hurts when people lie like that, I know. But, knowing Sherlock, he wouldn't have done it to hurt you."

"I know," John mumbled and leaned against his Dad a little. "Why did he do it though? He told me he was scared. Of what? What am I going to do to him? Eat him?"

Alan laughed a little, rubbed his hand up and down John's side rhythmically. "Remember all those things that happened to him when you were at primary school? All those bullies?"

"Yeah, of course I do. I fought them off for him," John muttered and looked up at his Dad.

"What if he was scared that you'd become one of them? What if he was scared that he'd lost you, and you didn't want him back?" He didn't want to seem like he was defending Sherlock, but he didn't want to be completely against the boy either, he had to take a neutral approach to it.

"But I do. I always will," John said quietly.

"In the past four years, how many times have you been round to see him? Called him? Sent him a birthday card?"

"None..." John answered sheepishly.

"Sherlock didn't want to leave you, you know that. He didn't want to lose you, but he did," Alan said softly.

"He didn't call me either. Or send me a birthday card. Or visit," John argued back gently.

"But you knew he probably wouldn't make new friends, Sherlock always that knew you would. And you have," Alan pointed out. "He thought he'd lost you forever."

They were both quiet for a about a minute before John said, "What should I do?"

"Do you want to forgive him?"

"Yeah. But not straight away," John said after another short pause.

Alan nodded. "Understandable. You both need a bit of time to chill out a bit. He needs to get used to school. And, as a Watson, and a captain, make him feel welcome."

"Yeah, uh, Greg and Molly have taken him on board. They really like him," John said quietly and sat upright again.

"That's good then. If you let your group know that you two are having problems, I'm sure they won't bring it up. You've got a good group of friends," Alan said and stood up again. "I brought your dinner up. I know you don't want to be around Harry like this."

John nodded and let out a small laugh, then smiled ever so slightly. "Thank you, Dad."

"It's not a problem, Johnny," Alan said and walked towards the door. "If you have any problems, just talk to me about them. I'm always here for you."

John nodded again and watched his Dad leave the room. He then walked across to his desk and began to eat his dinner. He was fairly hungry, and probably wouldn't have eaten if his Dad hadn't brought any up for him. After he'd finished, he looked at his phone for the first time since he'd got home. He had four texts.

**From Mike Stamford** : You up for playing on CoD tonight?

**From Mary Morstan** : Keep smiling, Johnny. :) x

**From Greg Lestrade** : I have to look after him.

**From William Scott** : Please don't hate me.

He quickly replied to Mike and Mary's texts, took a bit more time with Greg's, but didn't reply to Sherlock's. Instead, he changed the contact name and turned his Xbox on.

**To Mike Stamford** : Sorry mate, didn't see your text. Give me five minutes.

**To Mary Morstan** : I am, don't worry. :) x

**To Greg Lestrade** : Thank you. I just can't even see him right now. I know I have to, but, you know. It's hard. I'm gonna be a bit standoffish with him. Let the group know for tomorrow, please.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for the wait, I've had a lot going on, and will do over the next few months, so replies will be staggered. Very sorry.

The next few weeks at school were awkward, which was expected. Sherlock couldn’t look John in the eye; he couldn’t look at him at all. It all felt so wrong. John didn’t look at him either. Neither of them spoke. Sherlock hated it.

At least he had a few people he could talk to, though. He was becoming quite attached to Molly and Lestrade. Also, Mike was nice, Tom didn’t exactly hate him, Mary smiled down the table when she wasn’t ogling John – _his_ John – and Janine was another friendly face. He wouldn’t talk to all of them, obviously. He already felt like he was invading John’s life far too much, taking his friends would be a new low, even for him.

For Sherlock, every lunch consisted of the same things. He’d walk with Molly, Lestrade, or Mike to the dinner hall, take his packed-lunch from his bag, start eating one of his sandwiches, slowly eat it over the course of lunch, leave the rest of his food or give it to somebody else, reply to a text from his mother which was always asking if he was okay, then he’d sit quietly unless he was spoken to. He’d considered sitting somewhere else, or maybe nowhere at all. Maybe he’d just wander the halls, explore a little. But there was that one part of him that still clung to the hope that John would walk down to Sherlock’s end of the table and snog him senseless. But that was only a very small part of him, and was soon growing smaller.

One lunch, precisely twenty six days after the… incident, Sherlock decided that he’d give John a day off putting up with him. He told Molly that he was going to work through his lunch hour as they left their English classroom, and then Sherlock headed in the direction of the library. But he wasn’t going to the library; he was going to find a new place, his own place, not John’s. He knew Molly and the others would fuss over him, and tell him that he didn’t need to go, but Sherlock wanted to. He wanted to get away from John. He wanted to effectively free him from the awkward trap they were living in.

He walked leisurely down the corridors, now that he knew his way around the school, and peaked down corridors and into classrooms in an attempt to find a quiet area. As he walked, he hummed one of his latest compositions under his breath, and then he found it. The jackpot. The holy grail of secret hideaways. A music practice room.

Sherlock lightly tapped on the door. No response. Empty. All his. He pushed down the door handle and grinned as it opened easily, revealing a near abandoned practice room. In the corner, there was a piano with a few keys missing, and there were a few slightly broken sheet stands next to it.

“Perfect,” Sherlock whispered to himself and stepped inside fully before shutting the door behind him. He took his lunch box from his bag, and took one bite of his sandwich before dusting the room down with a spare handkerchief from his bag.   

Forty minutes later, Sherlock had finished dusting the piano and made notes about how he could fix the broken and missing keys. He had to admit, it wasn’t his favourite instrument, but it was something to do. He left the room as quietly as he could and decided to go see a caretaker about acquiring a key for it. He became lost in his own little world as he walked down the corridor, and didn’t see his primary school bully walking towards him. Sebastian Moran.

“Well look who it is,” Seb snarled and looked to his accomplice. Or was he the accomplice for the other boy? “Little Billy no-mates,” he teased. “And he’s still got no mates!”

Sherlock was like a rabbit in the headlights. He stopped walking and stared at the boy. He was a lot taller than he was when they were ten. And he looked a lot stronger too. He still had short, blonde hair and the very same smirk on his lips.

“Hello, Seb,” he replied, trying his very best to keep his voice low and sturdy. “I go by Sherlock. I always have done.”

Seb laughed. And the other boy laughed too. “Is this the boy you told me about, Sebastian?” He asked. His voice very soft, yet somehow harsh. “Is this the one who broke poor John Watson’s heart in more ways than one?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. That was uncalled for. He tried to stand taller and tried to walk around the two of them. But he couldn’t. Seb grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and pushed him against the wall, laughing. “You’re so weak! You’ve always been weak,” he laughed and shook his head. “Where’s your Johnny boy now, Holmes?”

By the time Sherlock had even got the confidence to fight back, he heard finger clicking from down the corridor. “Sebastian Moran, James Moriarty, leave that boy alone, right now!”

To Sherlock’s surprise they both stepped back and Seb let Sherlock go. “Next time, Holmes,” he murmured and started walking away with the smaller boy.

He could have been imagining things, but he swore he saw them holding hands. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it before he was being fussed over by the school librarian – Mrs Hudson. “Oh, my dear, what did they do to you?” She asked quietly and quickly brushed Sherlock’s front down.

“Nothing, Mrs Hudson, I’m fine,” Sherlock said quietly and shook his head. He wouldn’t admit it, but he did like Mrs Hudson a lot. The way she fussed over the littlest things reminded him of his mother so much. And he was surprisingly very grateful for it.

“Hmm, if you insist, dear,” she said and guided him to walk with her. “You’ve had people looking for you, you know?”

“Molly and Lestrade?” Sherlock asked, still a bit shaken by the event that had just happened.

“Yes, and Tom and Mike,” she continued. “They’ve been ever so worried. Apparently you told them you were coming up to the library to do some work?”

Sherlock nodded. “I lied. I wanted to go for… for a walk. I didn’t want to worry them.” He was slightly disappointed that John’s name wasn’t on the list of people who were looking for him. But, really, he shouldn’t have expected it to be there in the first place.

“Ah, I see. Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, Sherlock, just let me know,” Mrs Hudson said politely, ready to depart to walk back down to the library.

“I’ve already said I’m-… actually, do you think there’s a chance that you could get me a key for the empty music practice room? I’d quite like to use it as a place to spend my lunch hour.”

Mrs Hudson reached into her pocket and pulled out a small set of keys. With a little trouble, she took one of the keys off and handed it to Sherlock. “This is one of the master keys. It’ll fit any lock, but only use it for the music room.

It was unbelievable how much trust she put in him. Sherlock took the key from her and smiled. “Thank you very much, Mrs Hudson,” he said quietly and put the key in his pocket.

“You’re welcome, dearie. You take care now.” She walked down the corridor and disappeared back into the library before Sherlock could fit another word in.

* * *

_ 4:23pm _

**From John Watson** : Did you find him then?

**From Greg Lestrade** : What do you mean, mate?

**From John Watson** : Sherlock. Did you, Molly, Tom, and Mike find him?

**From Greg Lestrade** : Oh, yeah. Well, we didn’t. Mrs Hudson did. She said something about him wanting to hide away in a practice room.

**From Greg Lestrade** : And that Seb and Jim were being bastards to him.

**From John Watson** : Right. Okay.

**From John Watson** : Why do you think he lied to Molly about where he was going?

**From Greg Lestrade** : I dunno mate. But it’s not like he’s completely gone missing, is it? He’s fine. I walked him home again, just to be sure.

**From Greg Lestrade** : I also caught a sight of his brother again. He’s bloody gorgeous!

**From John Watson** : He won’t be interested, Greg. I’ve known Mycroft for a very long time now.

**From Greg Lestrade** : He will be, Johnnykins. Just you wait.

**From Greg Lestrade** : I’m irresistible.

**From John Watson** : Alright, mate, whatever you say.

John set his phone down on his desk and ran his hands over his face. He wished he could’ve been there for Sherlock. He was always there for him when Seb started acting up with him. And this time he wasn’t. But he was okay. And that’s what mattered. He was okay.


End file.
